Chapter 6 - The Traitor Within
The storm raged on outside, but inside the cottage, the air had grown heavy with a different kind of tension.
Before Julian could answer Delia’s challenge, the harsh glare of headlights swept across the front windows, slicing through the rain.
Marcus Hale burst through the front door without knocking, water streaming from his tactical jacket, his service pistol drawn and ready.
"Boss! We've got movement!" Marcus shouted over the roar of the wind. "Three unmarked black SUVs just bypassed the local sheriff's checkpoint and turned down our access road. They're carrying heavy hardware. Professional hit squad."
Julian’s head snapped toward Marcus. "How did they find us?"
"It wasn't a local leak," Marcus said grimly, tapping his tablet. "I traced an encrypted satellite ping originating from our own Boston headquarters. Someone inside our inner circle just sold our location to the remnants of the old council—loyalists aligned with your uncle Marcus."
Delia’s face drained of color. "They followed you here."
Julian didn't hesitate. The hesitation of a mob boss was the death of his family. He drew his custom Sig Sauer from his shoulder holster, checking the magazine with a practiced click.
"Marcus, take Delia and get Wren out through the root cellar in the back," Julian ordered, his tone absolute. "Take them to the safehouse on Eagle Point."
"And you, Julian?" Delia demanded, grabbing his sleeve. "You can't fight a battalion by yourself in this terrain!"
"I'm not fighting them by myself," Julian said, a cold, lethal smile touching his lips. "I'm finally finishing a war that started nine years ago."
He turned to Marcus. "Get them moving. Now."
As Marcus escorted a protesting Delia toward the kitchen trapdoor, Julian stepped out onto the front porch into the teeth of the storm. The wind whipped his dark overcoat around his legs like a banner of war.
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Down the gravel driveway, three black SUVs ground to a halt, their high beams cutting through the sheets of rain. Doors flew open, and a dozen armed mercenaries in tactical gear spilled out onto the wet grass, raising assault rifles toward the cottage.
Julian didn't flinch. He raised his pistol, took a steady breath, and fired into the darkness.
